


Inundated

by OverstuffedTeddyBears



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Kink, Feeding, Force-Feeding, Other, Stuffing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 17:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16330481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverstuffedTeddyBears/pseuds/OverstuffedTeddyBears
Summary: Stuffing scenario with ambiguous genders as I feed you until you're stuffed.First person POV addressing the reader.If you are under 18 or do not like fat/belly fetishism/stuffing navigate away now.





	Inundated

You look so full already.

Not packed taught—not like you will be—but comfortably filled. You weren’t skinny to begin with, but by this time you are looking positively round. Your belly rests heavily on your lap as your entire body sinks comfortably back into the armchair.

I am made to serve you, to fill you until you can no longer move. And you were made to satisfy me. We are a perfect cycle of creation and consumption.

I walk up behind you and lean over the back of your chair, wrapping my arms around you and pressing my hands into your globular gut. You give a little grunting burp and some air works free. Your lips turn to mine, seeking, hungry, and I devour that feeling with my tongue.

“I’m still hungry,” you groan as I break away. I smile, wicked and promising of painful pleasure.

“Shh, I’ll be right there,” I say. You fidget in your chair, your wide hips pressing into the arms and your own arms resting lazily against the chair’s.

Mountainous plates of rich food laden every surface of the kitchen. I take another platter, your third, and bring it over to you. I see that hunger in your eyes, that desperation that makes your breath go uneven. I feel myself growing aroused at the sight.

I rest the platter of giant, sticky-sweet éclairs on top of your gut, your heavy chest keeping it from falling off. You are already close to a food-coma as it is, but there’s still a need in your eyes. I take pity on you and pick up the first éclair myself. I put it to your lips, tracing it around until your mouth is covered in the cream and chocolate.

Your hands tense on the armrests and I move to straddle you, feeling my belly press against your glorious stomach. I feel something like power pass between our bodies, electrifying us both. I press myself into you so hard that I can feel when the éclair moves into your straining stomach.

One tasty treat follows another until you’ve nearly consumed them all. You pause as I place the last treat to your lips.

“Come, now,” I encourage, rubbing my free hand across the soft skin of your stomach. You shiver, the movement making your flab quiver and I nearly come just like that. I keep myself still over you through sheer force of will. The anticipation only makes it better.

“I’m too full,” you say. I purse my lips and give you a disapproving look.

“You aren’t too full, feel,” I take your hand and press it into the softness of your stomach. “There’s still so much more room. I’m not going to let you stop until you have filled every inch of that cavernous gut with food.”

“I can’t—“ you protest, but weakly. “I’m going to pop.”

I lean down and take your mouth with mine. I can taste the sweetness of the éclairs on your tongue as I wrap my fist into your hair, pressing down on your stomach. You groan in something between pain and pleasure. I break away and focus my attention on your stomach, pressing and kneading it until a large air bubble works its way through your lips.

You sigh in relief as the pressure is lessened enough for you to take down the last éclair. I pull back and press a rewarding kiss to your stomach, making you shiver again.

“Now, one last platter and then we can take a break,” I say, meeting your dazed eyes. You nod. You know that there’s nothing else to do but nod. I will have my way, I always do. Because I was made to do this and you were made to receive.

I move from your lap, loving the way your entire body quivers with every shallow breath. Sweat beads on your forehead as your abused stomach works to digest its meal. I go to the freezer once more and pull out a giant Sunday. I’ve made it in a fruit bowl with an entire pan of brownies, ten bananas, and three tubs of ice cream, topped with a can of easy whip, fudge sauce, caramel, and sprinkles. I even put cherries on top, delicious sugar-filled maraschinos cherries.

I bring over a spoon and set the bowl to the side. Your eyes, ever so slightly out of focus, go wide at the sight of the dessert. I give you a saccharine smile and take the first spoonful of ice cream. You eat it without complaint, but your hands fist on the chair.

“You’re doing so well,” I coo, rubbing one hand on your belly as I settle onto your lap again, feeling every bite fill you even more. There’s hardly enough room for me to sit like this anymore. I compete with your own gut for space.

You groan as I fill you more and more. Your stomach is round and taught now, so huge it looks like it belongs to some much larger creature than you. But still I feed you. Giving you bite after bight of calorie-laden ice cream and brownie. I steal one cherrie for myself, rubbing it over my lips and then sucking it into my mouth. Your eyes roll back in your head as I lean down to kiss you again. I cannot get enough of this, enough of you. That’s why I want more of you, so much more, to feed this addiction.

Each new bite of Sunday shortens your breath, rounds your stomach until I can feel the strain of the organ even through your thick layers of fat. Your skin is beginning to grow taught and red now, too.

I want you, I want so much more of you. I want all of you.

By the time you finish the last bite, your breaths are coming in short gasps, hiccoughs wracking your prone body.

“Good, so good, yes,” I mutter, kissing a line from your lips down your neck and chest to your stomach. I press my hands into the mass, tenderly, with all of the love I have for you. I suck the skin into my mouth and leave love bites down your perfect skin.

“Mmm,” you groan, pain-laced pleasure filling your voice. Your thick fingers join mine, exploring the new expanse of your body. pressing into fat-covered hardness. You feel like a solid mass, infinite and ever present, even as your eyes are fogged with food-coma.

“Perfect,” I mutter against your inundated stomach, trying to heft it with my hands. “You are perfect.” Your stomach lets out a loud gurgle of protest, working so hard to digest the massive meal you’ve eaten. I smile as I press my face to the softness, feeling it as your belly fat encompasses me, bringing us closer together than ever before.

I want you. I want all of you. I want _more_.


End file.
